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First Published Poem

When it’s good it’s good
And it’s not good until it’s
Perfect.
Your piano against my fingers
I’m tapping a different type of
Key
See this laptop.
It’s a Macbook.
It’s as white as your keyboard.
Piano white for a
Postmodern piano.

My pieces are divided into
Acts that don’t
Flow
I think I may be Postmodern.
I’m an
Elusive
Definition.
My muscles are as defined as my
Stanzas.
I do not see Postmodernism.
Ringing.
Your ears are
Ringing an
Eb.
You bury them in a pillow to
Block the buzz.
You do not hear Postmodernism.
Anorexic.
I am
Starving myself until I
Recover.
I have not eaten in days
I am
Full on your
Faux intellectualism
I do not taste Postmodernism.

My piano is in the corner.
It is made of wood.
It has
Thick accents along the edges
It is
Modeled from the Baroque era.
I haven’t bought it yet.

A dream.
You are
In the corner
Playing some piece by
Marais
Your tinnitus has made you
Tone deaf
You do not know you can’t play.
Tired.
I am
Tired enough to
Open my eyes and too tired to
Know I was
Sleeping.
I do not dream of you.

First accepted by Marlow Pearce Weaver, for the anthology In Our Own Words: From a Generation Falsely Labeled.

I like the directness of the writing: "See this laptop. / It's a MacBook. / It's as white as your keyboard." ... "I do not see Postmodernism. / Ringing. / You ears are / Ringing an / Eb." The lines pull the reader. Thanks for posting the poem, Amanda. I like it.

I enjoy the interlacing of music and writing, piano keyboard and computer keyboard, type pad, the inclusion of body image and food issues as connected (perhaps) to leaving music behind and taking to the keyboard. Terrific poem for me to read today, as I am in and out of music myself, Bb clarinet. *

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Group Description

Please post your first published story or poem or essay here.

The group icon I found on the Internet. It is a view of a dining room in Seattle's Four Seasons.